The 134 Days it Takes to Make Broken Men Strong
by Zanna Tinuviel
Summary: When her Master perishes in a horrific battlefield explosion that claimed most of their regiment and clouded her sight, Asryn Lor'ia is alone and broken, a shell. The Padawan refuses to abandon the remaining Clones in her regiment, however, and chooses to stay with them for as long as their healing takes; mind, body, and soul. Others only hope she'll find her own path to healing...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : I just want to start out and say thanks to all the amazing people here on FFN who inspired me to write this, whether they realized it or not. Eirian Erisdar, PlaidButterfly, SphinxScribe, and SapphireAlena are all totally amazing Star Wars fanfic authors who brought me a new love of the fan literary world. Go check out their stories! Wait – not yet! You have to read this first. :P And special thanks to Wind, who listened to the whole crazy outpouring of the dream this monstrosity comes from.

Now, this is a fic set in the Clone Wars timeline. Everything's a bit iffy, since it's very insubstantial because of the data I had to base it around. We begin on the planet of Sarrish, where the Republic suffers one of their greatest defeats (that we conveniently never visited) during the Clone Wars. All data is pulled from my crazy little head, the comics, the show, and Wookieepedia, God bless that site. Since the date of the battle is unknown, simply mentioned in passing, I'm sort of making a mashup of everything and winging it. If you see continuity errors, feel free to point them out. But this is kinda-sorta-very AU, so. It's not a big deal.

All reviews are appreciated.

(:~:)

 _Day Zero_

The ground shakes beneath the Twi'lek's feet and she stumbles slightly, lekku swinging. Murky water from the recent rains laps around her ankles, mixing with the dust on her lavender skin to form a slick covering of mud.

The orange light of the explosion ahead blooms into the smoky sky, its fiery haze disrupted by the sudden _swish-hum_ of an extended lightsaber, glowing a brilliant turquoise in the sunset hues.

Her com beeps, and she is already in motion, running fluidly forwards.

"Master!" the Padawan gasps into the open commlink. "What happened?"

 _"_ _The enemy was closer than I expected; they were hiding in the cliffs. We're outnumbered, Asryn._ Master Kobey Maru's voice is grim; she can feel his worry through their bond. _"Get your squadron and head this way; we may be able to hold them off until the rest get here."_

And so the Twi'lek runs, her feet barely touching the ground as she draws on the Force to guide her. "Gull! Hotshot! Dash!" she yells. "Get the others and move out!"

There is a scrambling in the rocks around her as the squadron of clones make to follow her, but her attention has already shifted back to the battle and her Master, who is trying – and failing – to supress the increasing pressure that begins to overflow, trickling into their bond. Asryn feels the urgency rise like bile in her throat.

The Force is like a hurricane around her, dark and tempestuous. _Something is about to happen. Something bad._

 _And there's no kriffing way I'm going to let Master Kobey face it without me,_ Asryn thinks viciously, vaulting over a pile of boulders and landing lightly in the midst of a nightmare.

A nightmare that has been a reality for these past months.

Before she has time to register troop positions or battle stats, her 'saber is in motion, crackling in the ozone-rich air to shear through two droids in a wide arc, their smouldering halves dripping slag as they tumble to the craggy earth. The hum of battle sings in her head, beating in tandem with the buzz of blaster bolts.

Snap-kick.

Front flip.

Backhand slash.

The katas are familiar, coming in practiced ease, making the small purple form seem to dance across the rough ground, like a spring violet, blowing in a breeze. The Padawan carves a swathe to her Master's side, her back pressing against his, the two settling into a comfortable rhythm of slash, duck, weave, deflect

"Miss me?"

"As much as you missed me, Padawan," comes the usual dry remark.

"So," she grunts, slashing a bolt aside, "not at all, Master? I'm hurt."

Though she can't see his face, she can feel Master Maru's shoulders shift in a short laugh, the leather tabards of his outfit scraping against her linen tunic.

Asryn loses track of the time filled by their silence, a void of deflected shots and ruined droids. She is so immersed in the layers of the Force that she can feel every life around her, the small candle-flames that are the clones. Every time one snuffs out, she fights down a wave of nausea. And there are so many extinguishing, the number dwindling, dwindling….

Then it happens.

Something clatters nearby, and a high-pitched whining pierces through the air, drilling into Asryn's head like a burning 'saber strike.

She realizes what it is a second too late, and the world explodes into a starburst of red, red and screaming and flying shrapnel and _the lives, they're all winking out in one wave and the screaming_ _ **it's in her head, oh Force, no, NO -**_

A searing pain in her eyes –

 _My chest hurts –_

 _My head –_

 _Master?_

 _…_ _._

 _MASTER?_

 ** _MASTER?!_**


	2. Day One

**Author's Note: I'm soooo sorry this took so long to update, heh…I had a bad bout of writer's block and classes dumped a lot of homework on me, plus my best friend who lives so very far away was visiting. But after close to an all-nighter, I've got Day One for you! I'm really excited to get this ball rolling; Asryn needs more love from me, haha.**

 **Answers to reviews:**

 **OldWorldVulture:** **Thanks, I appreciate the good wishes.**

 **a person d:** **Nope, not a oneshot! I promise Asryn will be okay. Eventually. Maybe. And don't worry, you'll be seeing plenty of her and her "clone brothers" – I love how you put that! Glad to hear you're interested.**

 **Eirian Erisdar:** **You guys all loved Kobey and now I killed him. Whoops. Don't worry though; undiluted angst is my specialty.**

(:~:)

 _Day One_

Asryn is not aware of herself as she wakes. An emptiness lies inside of her, a dull, gnawing feeling growing steadily as she drifts through layers of sleep, towards the sharp awareness of the Living Force. No, she is not conscious of herself; rather, her surroundings.

Through the tendrils of the Force enveloping her, she can feel the Temple's ancient walls, curving around her in comfortable familiarity. Asryn Lor'ia knows the Temple as well as any Jedi Knight, and the Healer's wing better than many. Even under sedatives and Force-induced sleep, she senses the cleansing aura and hushed murmurs of the healers as they sweep through the halls.

Something nags at the back of her mind, an insistent whisper circling in the murky depths of her sluggish thoughts, but Asryn is too lightheaded to pay it any notice. Her lekku feel sore – of course. The beds on the starships always do that. But she's in the Temple now.

A cool hand brushes over her forehead, and the Twi'lek shifts, smiling as she hears the faint whisper of her Master's voice in her mind.

 _Ryn. Wake up. I need you to wake up._

Kobey's name for her always makes her grin. Asryn sighs contentedly, pushing away the odd feeling nudging at her brain.

 _Padawan_. The voice of the Nikto Jedi is sterner now, and….sad? Has something happened?

 _All right, Master_ , she thinks, slogging her way through layers of drug-induced fog.

"She's waking up," a quiet voice states, somewhere ahead through the darkness. "Should I-"

"No, leave her be," replies another. "We'll need to tell her soon."

The words don't register, because something else begins to worm stealthily into the groggy Padawan's newfound consciousness, wrapping its slick tentacles all around her being. Try as she might, Asryn cannot untangle them. With an almighty mental lunge, she jerks into awareness.

The pain does not simply register; it explodes across her body, white hot and sickening. Her lekku are not merely sore, they are burning with a fierce intensity that demands all her attention. The emptiness she felt before has expanded, echoing with the protesting shrieks of agony resounding from every inch of her battered body.

And she knows. Asryn _knows_ that he's gone. Nothing remains of her bond to Kobey Maru but cracked, dead shards, littering the otherwise desolate terrain of her mind. Her stomach churns, and she rolls to the bed's edge, dry heaving.

He's _dead_. Her master.

The voices are concerned now, swirling around her. She feels hands brushing over her back, grasping her shoulders to lift her back into the middle of the bed. Something grazes her right lek, and the wave of agony rises to a new crest, tearing a scream out of her throat.

Everything hurts – even her eyes sting painfully.

"Should we put her back in the tank?" the voice asks over the rustling of robes.

"No. There's nothing else it can do for her lekku; not at this point."

"The poor child."

Asryn blinks, trying to clear the darkness and see what's going on.

It doesn't fade.

Her breath hitches in her throat, constricting her chest. _Why can't I see?_

When she voices the words moments later, the entire room falls still. Utterly still. Then there is a shuffling of footsteps as someone approaches her bed.

"Padawan Lor'ia," the person says gently. A woman. "In the explosion on Sarrish...you were wounded badly. The blast released a toxic gas, which, coupled with the heat..."

"I'm blind," Asryn whispers, disbelieving. "Aren't I?"

The healer's silence is more than enough to answer the question.

It is then that the group of Jedi healers in the room can see her break. The Padawan's world has crumbled about her in a matter of seconds, and now she cracks as well, folding in over herself. Her Force signature, formerly whirling and confused, collapses inwards, all traces snapping behind a wall as impenetrable as cortosis alloy. She might have been dead for her lack of presence, of _being._ Asryn Lor'ia sits straight and tall in the medical bed, cloudy eyes fixed eerily on the healer who previously spoke; Vokara Che.

"Is it permanent?" she asks, in a flat, hopeless tone.

Master Che shrugs helplessly before remembering her charge cannot see it. "We haven't been able to verify if the effects are temporary, but..."

Asryn sinks gingerly back into her pillow, visibly trembling, though from effort, pain, or a combination of the two and the situation, only she could say.

"And...Master Ko-" her voice hitches, and she huddles lower. The formerly strong, vibrant Twi'lek seems physically diminished, her lavender skin tinged an unhealthy grey. "...Master Maru?"

"Oh child," Master Che whispers, "he's...he's gone."

The air is heavy, like a pregnant storm cloud, crackling with suppressed lightning and prepared to burst at any second. Silence weighs like a water-drenched blanket.

"I know," murmurs the Padawan, grief saturating every syllable. "I _know_ he is."

Silently, the healers file out of the room, leaving only Vokara Che, her own lekku twitching in silent sympathy. The older Jedi checks over Asryn swiftly, sending a gentle Force touch across her mental shields. They are a towering fortress, smooth and icy and impervious. The Padawan doesn't even appear to register the master healer's presence.

Retreating to the door, Vokara Che hesitates. Should she perhaps stay, and try to comfort the girl? _But no_. The grief of a Padawan for a Master lost is a private affair, solitary and painful. The Force eddies softly at her legs, murmuring to her that it will care for its own.

A gusty sigh escaping her lips, Master Che leaves to look after the many other Jedi wounded in these Force-forsaken wars.

Curled on the mattress, overwhelmed with pain, Asryn lets a quiet sob trickle from between her clenched teeth.

"But I _heard_ you," she whispers to the empty room. The hollowness within her still resonates with the emotions she has entombed there.

Lost and ensnared in her agony and loss, Asryn Lor'ia opens her mouth in a silent scream of anguish, and now that she is utterly alone, she lets the tears fall.

(:~:)

 **How's that for angst? This chapter ended up getting cut off MUCH shorter than I originally planned, but the flow worked better this way. And I can only dump so much bad news on my Twi'lek baby at once.**

 **For occasional progress updates and other fic snippets, you can find me on tumblr or email me. Contact information is in my bio.**

 **Reviews are appreciated!**


	3. Day Two

**Author's note: HA! I finally buckled down after my week of** **hell** **I mean, driver's ed, and worked out Day Two. Sorry it took so long…turns out I need to be in a certain mood to write Kobey's funeral? Plus I had to do a little research on eyes. (Shoutout to Eirian for the help there) And then I got caught up in the Beauty and the Beast tropes, lol.**

 **Anyway, let's get this party started.**

 **Replies to reviews:**

 **Eirian Erisdar : *****bows* Thank you. I do try to capture her suffering as accurately as I can. Yes, yes, you all love Kobey, no one will ever forgive me for killing him. Well, his death sparks the entire storyline, so it was a necessary sacrifice. *Spock voice* the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. And yeah, Asryn has some crazy shielding. I should explain that later….**

 **tyrantOFathens:** **I'm so glad you liked it! Always glad to know I have another person caught in my nets of angst. Thank you so much for your compliments, I was blushing for five minutes after reading your review!**

* * *

 _Day Two_

 _Asryn is twelve when she was chosen to be a Padawan. She vividly remembers staring wide-eyed at the 1.9 meters of Kajain'sa'Nikto, intimidated, but not afraid, for the Force swells happily around her._

This is your Master _, it tells her._

* * *

After seven years of training and missions together, some peaceful, some hellish; after all the times Kobey Maru had picked her up and carried her when she couldn't walk, bandaged her wounds in the field, let her cry on his shoulder after her first kill, added beads to her Padawan braid – after seven years of him acting effectively as her father, and later, a brother, perhaps, Asryn cannot grasp the cold hard fact that _he is gone_.

The grey light of morning finds her kneeling on the hospital bunk, grasping mentally for the Force. She wants to slip into it, to _drown_ in it. A Jedi should have peace, but all she feels is a raging storm of emotion within her, lashing and biting like a caged beast.

Always, it is within reach, tingling in her fingertips, winding around her wounded lek, further dulling the pain – but dancing away as she tries to submerge her consciousness. Asryn drags her teeth over her already-tender bottom lip in frustration. It is as if the Force is teasing her, _hiding_ from her. She slams an open palm onto the sheets beside her, wincing at the resulting protests from her sore muscles.

It's no good, Asryn knows. She can't expect the Force to _give_ her peace. But _knowing_ can't stop the rising hopelessness.

Burying her face in her hands, Asryn bites back one of many screams. _There is no emotion. There is only the Force._ The words run like a chant, a dance rhythm in a squalid cantina, echoing hollowly in her head. But somewhere along the way, they twist and morph and blend together, repeating sadistically. _There-is-emotion-there-is-no-Force-there-is-no-light-there-is-only-the-_ _ **dark**_ _-and-the_ _ **-emptiness**_ _-and_ _ **-death**_ _-and-_

And the sound of the door sliding open. The Twi'lek's head snaps to the side so suddenly that her undamaged lek swings around to brush the immobilized right headtail, setting off another dulled ripple of pain. Involuntarily, she lets out a faint whimper, but clamps down with walls harder than duracrete.

 _There is no emotion. There is only the Force._

 _There_ is _emotion, but there is also_ control, _Padawan_.

One of Kobey's frequent sayings niggles in a corner of her mind, sounding so perfectly like him that she wants to wail. One conscious night without her Master's presence thrumming over their bond has already reduced her to _this._

The person who enters coughs slightly – was that a woman's cough? A man's? Is it possible to tell? – and Asryn stumbles back into the present awkwardly.

"Padawan Lor'ia," says Vokara Che's now-familiar voice. "Good morning."

So it is morning, then.

There comes a click of footsteps across the floor, then a _shink_ as the curtains slide from over the window. Sunlight floods in, washing the weary Padawan's skin with warm and a glow she can no longer see.

"Greetings, Master Che," she replies quietly, casting her sightless eyes at what she hopes are her hands.

The healer turns, looking searchingly at the young woman, so pale and waif-like upon the bed. In every aspect, Asryn Lor'ia appears calm and collected. _Her shielding is a gift, really,_ Master Che marvels. _But at times like this, even a gift can become a curse._

A long sigh escapes through her nose, and she crosses the small room to the bedside.

"Padawan Lor'ia, the funeral for Master Maru" – here the Padawan stiffens slightly – "it is set for this evening. You regained consciousness just in time to attend, but if you do not feel that your strength has returned enough to-"

"No!" the younger Twi'lek's response is unexpectedly quick. "I…I apologize," she amends, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "I would prefer to attend."

Again, she seems the picture of serenity, but Che notes the fingers of her right hand clenched, white-knuckled, around the beads of her long Padawan braid. _What have these wars done to our young?_ The healer wonders. _They steal life and freedom and hope. And worse, they steal the innocence of the younglings._

Placing a hesitant hand on the girl's shoulder, Vokara Che musters the will to deliver more painful news. "You suffered multiple injuries in the explosion; some more… _lasting_ than others."

Asryn does not twitch, does not cry, does not even seem to breathe with each sentence she hears.

Her right lek, the center of her balance, took the worst of the blast. Third degree burns; healed now, but the extent of the internal damage – unknown.

Three cracked ribs on her left side.

Her right eye damaged to the point where even her tear glands are ruined.

She can't cry from her right eye.

 _She can't cry…_

Somehow, this particular piece of information increases the ache in her chest more than three cracked ribs ever could. So she'll never see from her right eye; or, that is what Master Che appears to be attempting to convey.

She draws further within herself and listens as if from a distance of miles. It feels brighter, here, hidden away inside her mind. Like a dusty attic on a lush planet somewhere, warm shafts of sunlight slanting through cracks in the roof. She can almost _see_ it.

Almost.

* * *

Kobey Maru looks smaller in death. They have wrapped him in a linen shroud, hiding the injuries he must have sustained in the blast. The Jedi gathered around the plaza bow their heads in respect, whispering regrets for the loss of a great Knight.

Asryn, head covered in the hood of the cloak she wears, stands by the bier, sightless eyes fixed downwards. She cannot see him; for this she is glad. She doesn't want her memories of the tall, wise Nikto sullied by a vision of his corpse. It feels inherently wrong, standing here, knowing his physical body rests right before her, but not feeling his warm, steady presence.

Again, her slender fingers fiddle with the smooth beads of the Padawan braid. It hangs well past her waist…but Asryn now realizes it will never get any longer. The rough, red-scaled fingers will not slip another bead onto the end for a lesson well-learned. Kobey Maru's death has cut a good many things short, one of them the beaded record of her training.

 _And what of my training?_ she wonders briefly, before shaking the unpleasant thought out of her aching head. She will not dwell on things until afterwards. Now is a time for remembrance and release.

The fourth teaching resounds in her head - _Jedi are wary of attachment_ – but it is tainted with bitter irony. How can one spend so long a time bonded to another and feel no attachment, no form of affection for master or pupil?

A presence brightens in the Force, and a hand brushes her shoulder. "It is time, Padawan Lor'ia." At least she can still identify Jedi Master Mace Windu by his voice, then.

His hand remains lightly on her shoulder as she leans down towards the body that once was her Master, fingers tracing across the rough cloth shroud. Asryn opens her mouth for a final goodbye, but there are no words for her to say. How _can_ she find a way to bid him farewell, at least verbally, after nine years of friendship and laughter, arguments and hard training, easy conversations and painful confessions? Any phrases she could voice would fall dully on deaf ears.

 _Give sorrow words,_ Kobey once told her, but in reality, there _are_ no words.

So instead she backs away and allows silence to speak the impossible goodbye that lodges in her throat as her trembling hands grip the primitive flaming torch, guiding it downwards to ignite the pyre. Instead she stands stoically, as any Jedi should, smoothing the surfaces of her durasteel shields. Instead, she attempts to ignore the tears that slip from her left eyes, and the itching in her right.

Asryn listens to the snapping and popping of the flames that devour the hunk of matter that used to bear her master's spirit, and runs her Padawan braid through her fingers with ever-increasing, quiet intensity.

Time slides past her in a neverending stream, warping minutes to hours and hours to seconds in the paradoxical way that only time has. Asryn rides it numbly, a leaf in a raging river, losing herself to memories and emotions that claw at the inner walls of her Force-shielded sanctum.

Finally, when the fire has settled to pulsating embers, Mace Windu returns to the Twi'lek's side.

"The Council would like to speak with you tomorrow morning, Padawan," he says gently, not wanting to intrude into her thoughts, but doing so for necessity's sake.

She nods silently, hood falling back to reveal the stark contrast of white bandages against lavender skin, and a single tear catching the radiance of the dying coals, glimmering like a kyber crystal in lowlight.

"Yes, Master," are her only words, heavy with the knowledge that the one she so often spoke them to is gone, and he is merely a stand-in to bear the title of _master_.

The masterless Padawan bows deeply to Mace before turning and silently departing, shoulders bowed with the weight of nine years' worth of memories, and a lifetime of loss ahead.

Behind, the Force stirs mournfully around the ashes of one of its sons, resonating with the traces of a great sorrow and many unshed tears.

* * *

 **For more fanfictions, check out my tumblr, zannatinuviel tumblr com (replace spaces with dots). I post a lot, and currently have a 3-sentence-fic meme going on.**

 **There is also a work-in-progress Spotify playlist up for this fic, linked there, with a new song for every chapter, and a mix especially for Asryn!**

 **Love you all!**


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